


Homelike

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [38]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Codependency, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do not come back from death without bad dreams. Pietro has nightmares while staying with the Bartons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homelike

When Pietro has his first nightmare after the battle, he wakes the whole house screaming. Wanda had told them, the day before, that she could feel the nightmares building in her brother’s mind, but it still gives Clint a horrible lurch hearing Pietro screaming like his soul was being stolen. Wanda has had her own nightmares, waiting for her brother to emerge from the Cradle, any time his mind had flickered out while she was sleeping, and she had told the Vision – and later Clint – that she had always been the one to have nightmares, and Pietro had always been the one to comfort her.

All the same, when Clint reaches the twins’ room – they’d asked for one to share, moved two beds to rest at right angles and Pietro had refused to let go of Wanda’s hand – Pietro is already quieting, his head cradled to Wanda’s chest, her fingers combing through his hair. He’s still sobbing, and he is shaking so fast he almost seems to be shaking _apart_ , but whatever Wanda is murmuring to him in Sokovian seems to be enough to soothe him. It sounds vaguely, Clint thinks, like Serbian, and sometimes like German, and has loanwords from a dozen languages he’s heard Natasha use. Clint thinks Wanda is murmuring reassurances, though with the sing-song way she’s speaking it could just as easily be a lullaby. Out of the corner of one eye Clint sees Laura herding the kids back to bed, and in the other Pietro’s hands clenching in Wanda’s red pyjama shirt. Wanda glances over to him as he steps into the room.

“Hey,” he offers, his voice as soft as he can make it. “Do you need anything?”

Wanda shakes her head, fingers still combing steadily through her brother’s hair. “We’ll be fine,” she promises, and sends a single spark of scarlet from her little finger to unknot some strands.

“You sure? I make superb cocoa.”

Clint feels Laura walking towards them through the floorboards even before he hears her. “He lies,” his wife says. “He makes good hot chocolate, but I make the better cocoa. Would you like some? Cooper won’t sleep without it after a nightmare.”

Wanda’s expression is considering, and she murmurs something in quiet Sokovian to her brother.  Pietro is still shaking, albeit slower, but nods clearly. “Please,” Wanda says, and presses a kiss to the crown of her brother’s head.

Laura slips away down the stairs, oddly light on the stairs, despite the late stage of her pregnancy, and Clint watches the twins. Pietro’s shakes are still slowing, but given how fast he had been going he’s almost at normal human shakes now. Wanda’s fingers still comb through her brother’s hair as she murmurs something that sounds like a question.

Pietro replies with a murmured word, and Clint recognises the Russian for “fire”. The next words are a flurry, at a speed that Clint is surprised Wanda can even understand knowing the language, and he barely makes out what he thinks is the Serbian for “tearing”. Wanda presses another kiss to her brother’s hair, sends scarlet dancing around them like fireflies. Pietro murmurs something more to her, and Clint is sure he sees tears in Wanda’s eyes as she presses her face to her brother’s hair and murmurs something back that leaves her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Pietro, Clint can see, is most assuredly _not_ alright, but Wanda crying returns him to his usual protective self, tugging Wanda close, tucking her under his chin as she cries. He is still shaking – fully human speeds at last, rather than the enhanced shaking so fast he was a blur – but his hands are certain stroking through Wanda’s hair, and he seems to calm faster soothing Wanda than being soothed by her.

Clint is quiet for a while before finally going, “How many languages do you two know?”

Pietro shrugs. “Fluent or conversational?” he asks, and Clint shrugs in turn. Pietro gently rocks from side to side, Wanda cradled close, and looks thoughtful. “Sokovian,” says. “Serbian because of that. Austrian German and Czech. Some Russian, a little Hungarian.”

“Polish and a very little French,” Wanda interjects, watching from the safe enclosure of her brother’s arms. “Hebrew.”

Clint is almost startled by the last before Pietro finishes with, “English, you know.” His blue-clad shoulder shrugs. “Phrases in a few other languages.”

“Impressive,” Clint offers, and Pietro only shrugs.

“There were many languages used. People liked it when you spoke their language. If you couldn’t then you used English or German.”

“It’s still impressive,” Clint says. “You two are what… twenty or so? And spent several years locked up in the castle? Language retention isn’t easy.”

For all Pietro is still cradling his sister to him, he manages to look impressively patronising. “We learned as soon as we could talk.” A moment’s pause, a poke from Wanda, an acknowledging tilt of his head. “Most of them.”

Clint almost laughs, but holds back, not wanting to wake the kids. “Do you want to come downstairs?” he offers, and the twins do not even speak before Pietro is standing, Wanda held carefully in his arms. 

Pietro nods towards the doorway Clint is blocking. “Lead on.”

 

* * *

 

The mugs are warm in their hands. The cocoa smells rich and dark like proper cocoa, not the too-sweet kind from the vending machines at the base, and slightly spiced with something Wanda thinks is cinnamon. She’s still curled against Pietro, sat on his lap, and there is a kind of comfort in it, in knowing her brother is there and safe, that his heartbeat is at normal human rates and not singing like a hummingbird’s, that’s he’s not shaking himself into a blur.

She barely registers when Laura heads upstairs, passing by Barton – well Clint, given everyone but they are Bartons in this house – with a light squeezed hand and a kiss pressed to his cheek. Clint remains, leaning against the countertop, cradling his own mug.

Wanda knows Clint has been considering carefully when he finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Pietro’s gaze is startled up from where it was fixed on his mug – cradled in one hand, while his other remains firmly clasped with hers – and meets Clint’s eyes.

“It is not a nightmare of words,” Pietro says. “Words cannot fix it.”

Clint smiles, and sets his mug down on the counter. “I think that words tend to make problems most of the time,” he says, and it is an almost teasing admission. “But I’ve found talking can help. If I hadn’t talked to Nat about what Loki did to me I’d have gone mad. It helps to let it out.”

There is silence for a moment, and the twins consider before Pietro tilts his head slightly towards his sister. “Wanda knows,” he says. “That is enough.”

Wanda watches the set of her brother’s mind, soothed from the nightmare, calm enough for now, and glances to where Clint is watching them still, mind swirling in uncertainty. “If we need to,” she says, “We will talk to you.” She can see Pietro about to object and tugs his hand gently, distracting him before he can speak, and nods once to Clint. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
